


Meant To Lead a Man Astray

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-27
Updated: 2011-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne has a brilliant plan to get Arthur and Eames together; she's going to make Arthur jealous!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meant To Lead a Man Astray

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This is absolutely and completely based on fanon, not canon, with a blind eye turned toward proper characterization. Nothing but a little self-indulgence, and not one hundred percent how I see the players in this particular drama, nor events post-movie. *grins*

It might have been amusing if it hadn't been so heartbreaking, Ariadne thought.

"So, how long have you been in love with Arthur?" she asked Eames, one night. They were working alone together, for the moment, and the hotel suite they had rented warm and cozy by comparison to the warehouse in Paris they'd used for their first job together.

"What?" Eames stared at her blankly for a long moment, jaw lax, those plump pink lips parted in ways that always gave Ariadne boatloads of naughty thoughts. Just because she wasn't interested in him _that_ way didn't mean she was _blind_.

"Please tell me you're only surprised I noticed, and that you weren't unaware," she entreated, because if she hadn't thought that Eames already _knew_ , she'd never have asked. She was curious, always curious, but she usually knew better than to butt in when it might make things worse; at least where matters of the heart were concerned.

"I.... That first one, I guess," Eames replied slowly, and he was looking at her as though she had somehow changed before his very eyes. As if she weren't just as observant as the rest of them. More so than Arthur, she thought snidely, but then, their point man could very well be being willfully blind.

"Have you done anything about it?" she asked, reaching over and lightly grasping Eames' forearm. Mostly because she was afraid he might flee to avoid this conversation, but this move also gave her the side benefit of feeling how hard and well-muscled his forearm was under her fingers. The man was built, and it really was a shame that he was in love with someone else.

In all honesty, Eames might be physically her type -- and it was only parts of him that were "her type", not the entire package -- but in all other ways he was the complete opposite. He was fun and it was amusing to watch him make his way through their jobs, charming marks and bulldozing Arthur's attempts to rein him in. But he wasn't anyone that Ariadne could see having more than a few nights of passionate sex with.

Well. For her that was true. It might very well be a different story with a different lover; in fact, she was sure it would be. Ariadne kind of thought that Eames and Arthur had been made for each other. And it seemed that Eames was not unaware of this, even if Arthur was oblivious.

It was ironic and tragic and she just hoped that someday they'd all be able to look back on it and chuckle.

"Not really," Eames was replying to her, and he didn't seem inclined to bolt, but he didn't look completely comfortable with this conversation either. "I prefer my big boy bits where they are."

Ariadne snorted, partially in amusement at Eames' description of his junk, and partially in response to his words. "What makes you think he'd react violently if you haven't tried?" she asked.

Eames shook his head, his expression dolorous, even though he was smiling at her, his lips quirked. "Sometimes you don't need to try something to know it'll go poorly," he replied, his voice low and rough. Ariadne had never caught him smoking or smelled cigarettes on him, so she was forced to believe that he came by that husky bedroom tone naturally. "Kind of like jumping before a moving bus. You're just better off... not."

Ariadne sighed, exasperated and frankly a little amazed by the fact that Eames had just compared hitting on Arthur to being hit by a bus. But then she considered how Arthur reacted to _any_ of the light flirting that Eames did, and thought that maybe Eames wasn't completely wrong after all.

"It's a shame," she verbalized, sliding her hand down, appreciating the heat of his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt, then wrapping her fingers around his. She was now effectively holding his left hand, the one he used for most things even though she knew he was right-handed. His hands weren't quite as large as Arthur's, but they were broad and graceful at the same time, like Arthur's, and he kept his nails neatly clipped, just like the point man's. Sometimes Ariadne liked to imagine them touching one another with their powerful hands, their long, lean fingers. It was hot.

"Really, Eames'" she continued, not wanting to rub it in, but wanting to make her opinion known. "It's a terrible waste, letting all this time pass you by without trying."

Eames shrugged, and he might have had something to say in reply to her, but just then Arthur opened the door and walked into the suite. Ariadne caught his bright eyes fixing on their clasped hands in the moment before Eames tugged his loose, and she didn't think she was imagining the sudden flash of... _something_... that crossed Arthur's face before he slammed on the steely facade that he generally wore while working with Eames.

Eames greeted Arthur, and Arthur brusquely greeted them both, and Ariadne lowered her head, hiding a sudden smirk behind her loose hair. She had just gotten a very wicked idea. At worst, it should prove to be amusing -- at least to her. And at best... well, it just might manage to net Eames everything that he wanted.

Or so Ariadne sincerely hoped.

***

Sometimes Arthur liked to pretend that he did all the research, all the busy-work, and Eames just waltzed in, plastered on a mask, and then scarpered off with a share of the money which he had hardly done anything to earn.

Or at least, that was the only way Eames could interpret the fact of Arthur talking down to him, dismissing his contributions, and generally being a condescending git.

As though Eames hadn't done most of the brainstorming during the Fischer job. As though everything hadn't hinged on his depiction of Browning being flawless. As though he hadn't had to spend weeks studying the man _while also_ keeping up the work he was supposed to be doing for Fischer Morrow in his undercover role.

Arthur seemed to forget that sometimes Eames did _more_ research, and that forging was quite a bit more complicated than simply doing a good imitation of someone.

Or maybe Eames was just feeling bitter and prickly right now because Arthur was unaccountably, inexplicably angry at him and Eames had _no_ idea why. To the best of his knowledge, he hadn't done anything to garner Arthur's wrath. Not deliberately, and he didn't feel he had done so accidentally either. He simply had no clue.

It was undeniable, though. The sharp glares, the sharper words. Normally Eames was able to brush such things off, but _normally_ he knew what had brought such treatment down on his head.

Without any idea of what he'd done, he had no way to make it better. And while Arthur might not think so, Eames usually tried to make amends whenever he'd honestly pissed Arthur off. It made things flow more smoothly when they were working together. And while Eames liked to get a reaction from Arthur and would settle for negativity over being ignored, he never liked for Arthur to be genuinely irritated with him, especially for extended periods of time. It was intolerable, so far as Eames was concerned.

"Hey, Eames," Ariadne said, sliding a narrow flank onto his desk. Eames was a little surprised that she'd been able to find the room, tiny little slip of a thing or not. Arthur had piled him high with paperwork that he was supposed to "get caught up on", whatever that meant, so his desktop was littered with manila envelopes, photographs, print-outs, receipts, and other various items.

Eames was of the strong opinion that Arthur harboured a deep sadistic streak. But since Eames was trying to get back into the man's good graces, he was applying himself as diligently as he could manage to this mess.

Well, it was too organized to strictly be termed a mess. But it was organized to Arthur's own specifications, and Arthur and Eames worked completely differently. So Eames was left with the task of paging through _everything_ and parsing out the bits that actually applied to him.

It was late in the evening, and Eames was a little surprised that they were all still here in the suite, considering that they had each of them been here early that morning. Arthur was discussing something with Cobb in the kitchenette, near the microwave, and Ariadne had actually just returned after having left an hour ago. Eames had assumed she was taking off for the night, but here she was again. She had done something different with her makeup and she smelled good as she leaned closer to him. For one of the first times since he had met her, Eames didn't feel as though she still belonged in secondary school; or whatever the American equivalent was.

"Hallo, love," he greeted in return, giving her as wide a smile as he could managed when he was completely knackered. He'd gotten an even earlier start to the day than the others, and here he was, edging into the latter portion of the evening with stacks of work ahead of him yet. But he couldn't bugger off; Arthur and Cobb were still here, and Eames was already in Arthur's ill graces.

"Are you all right?" Ariadne asked, and she sounded honestly concerned. Eames hid a small wince. She had evidently decided that the two of them were _friends_ now. And while Eames didn't have any issue with that -- he liked her well enough; she was personable, intelligent, talented, and amusing to converse with -- he couldn't help the niggling feeling that it was merely pity on her part. Because he was fairly certain that she had only begun showing an increased interest in him after their little conversation about his feelings for Arthur. And that probability made Eames a bit uncomfortable.

"I'm fine," he replied, smiling more widely in an attempt to make up for the slight sharpness of his reply. "Why are you asking?"

She frowned at him, and to his absolute shock, reached forward and traced her fingertips over his jawline. "You look a bit run down," she said, and her tone was matter of fact, even though her expression was fond. "I'm worried about you."

"You needn't fret on my account," Eames assured her, scooting his chair back a little, even though she'd already retracted her hand.

"Hm." She gave him a long, hard look, then smiled brightly. "Come to dinner with me, Eames!"

"What?" He blinked, completely thrown and trying to cover for it. "Now?"

She snorted. "Yes, now. I don't want to be the last pair of patrons in a restaurant that's closing. The servers don't like you very much then."

"It's hardly as late as all that," Eames scoffed, but a glance at his watch had him rethinking his words. "Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_ ," Ariadne grinned, and she looked more than a bit predatory. "Aren't you hungry?"

He was, really, but there was so much paperwork on his desk.... "Take-in?"

She shook her head, her chin jutting stubbornly, and Eames knew that look. He was pretty sure that look was the one that had gotten her on the plane with them, had gotten Cobb to bring her into the Fischer job against the man's better judgment. "No. I want a nice dinner out."

"Well, why don't you ask Arthur, then?" Eames asked, glancing over at the kitchenette. Cobb was still talking, his broad hands moving in intricate shapes, but Arthur was staring at Eames and Ariadne. His face was carefully blank, but there was something sharp and unreadable in his narrow brown eyes.

"If I wanted to go out to dinner with Arthur, I'd have invited Arthur," Ariadne replied tartly, sliding down off the desk and grabbing at Eames' arm. "I'm asking you."

There was very little Eames could say to protest that. He'd already put forward two suggestions that had been shot down. If he continued to tell Ariadne no it would cross over the line into insulting. And Eames never insulted a woman.... Well, one who did not deserve it, at any rate.

"Fine," he sighed, and he knew that he sounded ungracious, but he couldn't help it. "Hang on a tick."

He rose and crossed to tug on his jacket. He was half hoping that Arthur or Cobb would speak up to ask what they were doing, perhaps invite themselves along....

"Eames and I are going out to dinner," Ariadne called, already headed for the door. "Don't wait up."

Cobb shot her a strange look, but didn't seem inclined to want to join them. "Sure thing, have fun," he said vaguely, waving a hand. Eames felt a little piqued by this easy dismissal.

Arthur said nothing at all, but Eames could feel the man's eyes on him all the way out of the hotel suite.

"Don't worry, Arthur," he said, just before closing the door behind him. "I'll be back to that," he nodded at the paperwork on the desk, "As soon as we're through eating."

Arthur's brow wrinkled in consternation, but then Eames was out of the suite, and he turned his attention fully to Ariadne. She had invited him to dinner; the least he could do was to give her his entire focus.

Besides. For the moment at least, dealing with her was simpler than dealing with Arthur. And Eames still couldn't figure out _why_ the man was angry with him.

***

Arthur was... concerned.

Normally he wasn't the sort of man who would get involved in the personal interactions of those around him when they didn't involve him personally. As long as it didn't affect their ability to do their job, he considered that it was none of his business.

But, dammit, Eames was too... too... too old, too uncouth, too dangerous, too... _too many things_ for Ariadne!

Arthur was well aware that the young woman in question would not welcome his concern. That it would, in fact, be very unwelcome. And yet, he couldn't help watching this strange _thing_ developing between them with growing horror.

No matter how many times he told himself that it couldn't possibly be what it looked like, no matter how hard he tried not to watch them, he couldn't help thinking the worst, couldn't help staring. He tried to be discrete about the staring, of course. He was good at that, after all his years spent running surveillance. But Eames was just as good, which meant that Arthur had to be _better_.

He had no idea what was going on. He had no clue what Ariadne thought she was up to. He wasn't sure of much, but he knew he could be sure that he wasn't imagining things.

Take tonight, for instance. Eames was going to be tailing their mark to a gay club, and Ariadne was far too gleeful over this. It was _unseemly_.

The fact of the matter was that they were _all_ having trouble tearing their eyes off of Eames; even Cobb. This was hardly surprising. What was surprising was the transformation Eames had managed.

Arthur was used to Eames and his chameleon ways. It wasn't just in the dream-share. Eames had looked different every time Arthur had worked with him in the last six years. During this job he'd been less scruffy than during the Fischer job, while also seeming more relaxed. But when he'd prepared to go to a gay club....

Arthur wasn't quite sure how Eames had pulled it off, but he looked years younger. All right, the truth was that for practically the first time, Eames looked his correct age. He actually only had four years on Arthur, but he usually went out of his way to appear older and more weathered. Arthur thought he understood why, but it would have been hard to put it into words. He'd often found himself envious; Arthur had something of a baby-face and he had to struggle to even look his age, to gain the respect that he deserved as a talented point man.

Eames was wearing his hair differently. With just as much product in it, but it was styled in a carefully sculpted mess, instead of a tightly controlled side part. He'd shaved, his jaw smooth and his lips appearing even redder and more plump without the framing stubble. He wasn't wearing makeup, thank God, because that would have looked... um, ridiculous. Yes, ridiculous. He had on some cologne that was more fruity than his usual, which was also ridiculous but which somehow smelled incredibly good on him.

And that was to say nothing of his clothing. The tight jeans he had on clung to his ass and thighs, leaving very little to the imagination. His black teeshirt hugged his chest so closely that Arthur could see his nipples -- and if Arthur could see them, so could everyone else. He had on just a little too much jewelry, silver and leather bracelets drawing attention to the delicate bones of his wrists, chunky rings making his fingers look more slender than they actually were. Tattoos peered from under his collar and short sleeves; it wasn't the first time Arthur had gotten a glimpse of them, but he thought it was the first time he'd seen Eames so willing to expose them while he was going to be out in public.

And that was the core of his discomfort, wasn't it. That somehow Eames managed to seem more exposed, more vulnerable than Arthur knew that he was. That might be part of his act, but that didn't mean that Arthur was comfortable seeing it.

"You look _amazing_ ," Ariadne gushed at Eames, her eyes and mouth rounded, her gaze running up and down their forger in a distinctly lascivious way. "I think I'm jealous of the mark."

Eames quirked a brow at her, and _there_ was the Eames that Arthur knew, underneath the carefully constructed facade. "Love, if I do this right I won't _be_ interacting with the mark," he said smoothly, not seeming to notice the way she was ogling him.

She scooted up closer, slender fingertips tracing the swooping line of his collar, daring to slide lower and brush over one nipple. Arthur stared, unable to believe his eyes, but knowing he hadn't mistaken what he'd seen.

"Well, then, I'm jealous of all the other gay guys at the bar," Ariadne cooed, smiling up at Eames. Then her graceful fingers hooked on the waistband of his jeans, and this time it was Eames' mouth that formed a plush 'o' of surprise. Not that everyone in the room wasn't just as stunned.

"Ariadne--" Cobb started, and Arthur wondered what exactly the man was going to say -- he, himself, had been struck as speechless as Eames had obviously been -- but before Cobb could get a single word out, Ariadne got a hard look on her face and began dragging Eames toward the bathroom... by his jeans.

"You're missing something, though," she informed Eames, throwing a glance over her shoulder. Arthur couldn't read her expression. He might almost have labeled it predatory, but surely that couldn't be right... could it? It certainly wasn't shy or coy, though.

"What... was _that_?" Cobb blinked, as the door closed behind Eames, and his tight ass in those tight jeans.

"I don't--" Arthur gave a spastic shrug, his head whirling. "I don't know."

Honestly, he had absolutely no clue what was going on, what Ariadne thought she was doing. It was slightly comforting to know that Cobb didn't have any better idea. But not very comforting. Arthur would feel better if he knew just _what was going on_ in the bathroom.

He and Cobb exchanged a glance when they heard Eames give a surprised yelp, and Ariadne snap something back at him; not angrily, but sternly. Cobb arched his brows, one corner of his lips threatening to turn upward, but Arthur was too busy frowning to return the bemused expression.

He was within three seconds of striding across the suite and crashing through the bathroom door -- and to _hell_ with it being none of his business -- when Eames was the one throwing the door open, and practically leaping out into the rest of the suite.

"You okay?" Cobb asked, and he actually sounded concerned. Considering the stunned expression on Eames' face, it probably wasn't a misguided question.

"Um." Eames nodded vigorously, then scuttled out of the suite so quickly that Arthur was barely able to catalogue the dark flush to his cheeks and ears, the slightly panicked look in his eyes. That wasn't what had most captured Arthur's attention, however. And he hadn't been the only one to notice--

"Ariadne," Cobb's voice sounded strangled, his blue eyes wide as he turned his attention to the young woman who was emerging from the bathroom at a more leisurely pace than Eames had done. "Was that.... Did you give Eames a _hickey_?"

She didn't actually reply, but her lips -- pressure bruised and undoubtedly tainted with the flavor of Eames' skin -- curved up in a broad smirk.

"Ariadne!" Cobb sounded scandalized, looked almost as stunned as Eames had done, but it was nothing compared to the huge explosion of conflicting emotions flaring in Arthur's chest, flooding his sight with crimson.

"Just helping him authenticate the look," Ariadne said smugly.

Cobb actually _laughed_ , the bastard. "By sending him off to a gay club with a hickey given him by a girl?"

Ariadne gave them a wide, white grin. "Well, I didn't see either of you offering," she said with a shrug. As though this was all perfectly normal.

"There's a reason for that," Cobb replied, and he shook his head, but he still sounded amused rather than scandalized. "Poor Eames."

Ariadne narrowed her eyes at Cobb, and the two of them exchanged more words, but Arthur couldn't hear them over the roaring of his heartbeat in his ears, couldn't see them through the haze of red overwhelming his eyesight. It was only the snapping of the pen in his hand that recalled his attention to the room around him.

He hadn't even been aware that he'd been holding a pen.

Cobb stared at Arthur, shock melting into confusion and mounting concern. Ariadne didn't look surprised at all, and she was smirking at him with an extremely _knowing_ look on her face.

Arthur wondered what it was she thought she knew. Because _he_ sure as hell didn't know what was going on!

"Are you okay, Arthur?" Cobb asked, worried.

"Fine," he replied shortly. And he was. There was no reason for him not to be fine, after all.

Ariadne and Cobb turned their attention to the maze that they were working on together. Arthur collected himself, preparing to exit the suite, with the intent of tailing Eames as Eames tailed their mark.

There wasn't any reason to think that Eames couldn't do his job, or that he might be any danger. But Arthur would feel better if he had the man's back. It was just safer that way. Who knew what trouble Eames might get into otherwise.

He left without a word to Cobb or Ariadne, and completely missed the knowing look that they exchanged as the suite door closed behind him.

***

It was easy, the easiest thing in the world, flirting with Eames.

For one thing, Ariadne knew that he was "safe". He was in love with someone else, another man, and he knew that she knew this. That meant he would be unlikely to take anything she said or did seriously.

For another things, now that she was looking at him, really _looking_ at him as a sexual being, she was noticing how incredibly attractive he really was. That definitely made the flirting easier, since she actually mean it. The intent was real, even if they both knew there would be no follow through.

It had really been the night he'd gone to the gay club that had cinched it, she thought. Even though the thin material of Eames' teeshirt had been stretched over his broad shoulders, even though she had been well aware that he'd probably been armed -- though where he could have hidden in a weapon under the skin-tight clothing he'd been wearing had been a mystery -- and could certainly hold his own in a fist fight, there had been something about him that had looked... softer. More vulnerable. And she wasn't sure whether he had done it deliberately or not.

She knew she hadn't been the only one to notice. After all, Arthur had followed Eames to the club, presumably hadn't let Eames out of his sight the entire evening. Ariadne would have paid good money to see Arthur hanging out in a gay club, but by the time she'd realized where he had gone, by the time she'd thought that she wanted to follow, she and Cobb had been so involved in their planning that there was no way she'd been able to leave.

Eames had looked so good, with his mussed hair and clean-shaven cheeks. Ariadne had always known he was attractive, true. During the Fischer job, though, he'd just looked so scruffy and oily at the same time. Well, the severe side part in his hair hadn't helped. And while he looked good with stubble, he looked younger without it. He looked more like his _real_ age -- which Ariadne knew, even if Eames didn't think she did.

He still wasn't really her type, but he was closer to it now, and she _might_ have gone to bed with him if he'd been the slightest bit inclined. The fact that he wasn't did nothing to dampen her mood, it just made the flirting easier.

She knew that Arthur was noticing. He _had_ to be. She had given Eames a _hickey_ , for God's sake, in a move that had been inspired, daring, and a little bit insane. It had been worth it, though, for the look of complete shock on Eames' face, and the carefully disguised jealousy she'd been able to read in Arthur's expression. As though she hadn't known what he'd been thinking and feeling.

The pen he'd broken had kind of underlined this, as well as the fact that he hadn't taken the time to wash the ink off his fingers before leaving the suite.

Cobb was giving her some mighty suspicious looks, but unless or until he asked her straight out what she was doing, she wasn't going to let him in on the whole thing. Even though he stood the chance of spoiling it for her. But then, he didn't know what she knew about Eames. Not unless he was a lot more observant than she gave him credit for being.

It was the day after Eames' trip to the gay bar. He'd already reported what he'd learned there; mainly the not inconsequential fact that he was the mark's type. So if he was going to approach the guy in the dream-share during their job he was going to have to forge himself a new face in order to avoid the risk of being recognized. Eames had been chagrinned to have been approached by the man he was supposed to be covertly tailing, but Cobb had pointed out that they might be able to use this attraction at some point during the job.

So now Eames was hunched over his desk -- not as upset with himself as he had been, but still mildly embarrassed by the fact that the mark had picked up on his presence and hit on him the night before -- paging through all the paperwork Arthur had thrust upon him.

Speaking of Arthur, _he_ was in a foul mood. He hid it pretty well, but Ariadne could always tell by the tightness of his jaw, and the way he was snapping at _all_ of them, not just Eames.

Ariadne thought that this was a good sign, but she wasn't about to let up now.

Cobb was going over plans, ignoring everyone else the way he tended to do when someone was being unreasonable. Ariadne was pretending to work on her mazes, but she was mostly keeping an eye on Eames and Arthur, and spending the rest of her time visualizing what Eames had looked like in the gay bar the night before... what Arthur's face might have looked like when the mark had hit on Eames... wondering whether the mark had put his hand on Eames' fine ass in those tight jeans... and just how much Arthur might have wanted to be the one groping Eames.

Hell, she was getting all hot and bothered right now. She kind of wanted to get her own hands on Eames, and she hadn't even _been_ there, was relying on her imagination alone! Well, and her memory of his ass in those tight, tight jeans.

Eames was back in his usual ill-fitted clothing today, but his hair was still a tangled mess atop his head. He hadn't bothered to tame it, though Ariadne thought he had bathed before coming in that morning. But even though he wasn't dressed for clubbing anymore, Ariadne could still see it in her mind's eye. And she was willing to bet that Arthur could too, that he wasn't going to forget anytime soon.

Right now, Arthur was out getting them lunch. Ariadne didn't think that she was wrong in assuming that they were _all_ breathing a little easier. Even Cobb seemed to have noticed the tension; he'd practically kicked Arthur out of the suite. They were just lucky that it had been Arthur's turn to go and get the food.

"How's it going?" Cobb asked Eames, coming to stand over the man's chair. Eames had been dragging his hands through his hair, and the collar of his shirt did nothing whatsoever to hide the hickey Ariadne had given him the night before. Ariadne thought he looked delightfully debauched, even though he mostly just seemed exhausted. "Don't think I haven't noticed you stinting yourself on sleep," Cobb continued, scolding in that mild way of his. "You shouldn't let Arthur bully you like that. Hell, you usually _don't_."

Eames slumped back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head with a low groan and the popping of joints. He'd stayed out late and been here earlier than any of them, even Arthur. Cobb was right to be concerned, Ariadne thought.

"Arthur's not usually pissed with me," Eames rumbled in return. "Irritated, yes. Annoyed, always. Snappish, absolutely. But actually actively angry?"

"Why's he angry?" Cobb asked, his brow creasing in a frown.

"Hell if I know!" Eames exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, and rolling his head back, neck a long, lean arch. And Ariadne knew the flavor of the skin on that neck....

She was starting to feel a bit like a pervert. Maybe more than a bit, considering that she knew Eames wasn't interested in her while also being too polite to tell her to shove off. But there was a point to what she was doing. She was doing this for Eames, trying to give him something that he couldn't or wouldn't take for himself.

"Do you want me to ask him?" Cobb asked, tilting his head. Ariadne bit her lip. While it was nice to see Cobb taking an interest, being concerned, he might very well screw everything up. Maybe she _should_ bring him into her brilliant plan.... But he might disapprove. She wasn't going to take that chance.

"Absolutely not," Eames replied, but he sounded tired, not vehement.

Before they could pursue the matter further, Arthur returned with their lunch, and Cobb dropped the subject. Ariadne was relieved. Also, she was hungry.

The four of them spent the time while they were eating brainstorming. Arthur and Cobb weren't going to be happy until they had at least two backup plans, and right now they only had one.

"It's going to go fine," Eames said, digging into his fried rice with adept chopsticks and a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Have a little faith in my abilities."

"It's not that," Cobb said, before Arthur could say anything, which Ariadne thought was just as well, considering the expression on the point man's face. "You know what it's like, Eames. We can have the best plan in the world, and if there's one little thing we don't know about the mark, his subconscious can completely screw everything up. And it wouldn't be anyone's fault," he shrugged. "But we need to be prepared."

"Yes, yes," Eames sighed, dropping his carton in the garbage bin. Arthur frowned, but Ariadne couldn't tell if it was over the waste of food, annoyance at Eames' off-hand tone of voice, or lingering guilt over the fact that he'd missed the militarization of Fischer's subconscious during the job for Saito. Ariadne didn't assume that this was what Cobb had meant by his last comment, but she was also pretty sure she wasn't the only one whose thoughts had flashed right to that.

"Well, what about the fact that the mark fancies me, then?" Eames suggested, leaning back and rubbing his eyes, then plucking at his lower lip with the side of his thumb. Ariadne licked her own lips, then glanced at Arthur. He was doing the exact same thing, almost like a mirror, his eyes slipping from Eames' mouth to her. Ariadne gave him the most innocent look in her repertoire. Which, naturally enough, looked as guilty as sin. That was her intent; she figured it would work even better than a naughty smirk would have in this situation.

From the narrow eyed look she received, she thought she'd succeeded fairly well. But she wasn't going to let it rest there. If Arthur was going to be a stubborn bastard, then she was going to have him as many shoves as it took to get him headed in the right direction.

She'd have to be careful to be a little more subtle, though. Arthur was smart, and if he managed to get a good idea of what she was up to it was going to make him set his heels, or possibly even do the opposite of what she was pushing for.

"That'll work," Cobb was saying, his eyes alight with inspiration, an expression Ariadne was familiar with. It mean that Cobb and Eames were going to be getting involved in planning, and everything else was going to be forgotten until they'd nailed everything down.

Well, this new back-up plan shouldn't affect her mazes any. She took some comfort in that as she finished her lunch. The only one with additional work now would be Eames.

That wasn't exactly fair, true, but it wasn't as though her work was _easy_. Fun, yes; especially when she got to see the finished products in the dream-share. But the work was also frustrating and occasionally irritating. Especially when Cobb kept demanding perfection, as though he could do better.

Okay, okay, generally speaking he probably could. Or at least just as well. But during this job he was leaving it to her to be the architect with only a little guidance where needed and he was acting as the extractor. She appreciated this, even though Cobb did have the tendency to get bossy from time to time.

Arthur had a sour look on his face, which made Ariadne want to laugh at him, but she couldn't just out and out accuse him of jealousy. She _wanted_ to, but she couldn't; not when she had been working so hard to deliberately make him jealous. She thought that they could all be sure, though, that Arthur was going to be doing his best to ensure that their other plans worked. So that they wouldn't have to fall back to this one, which essentially involved Eames pimping himself out for the cause.

Actually, Ariadne was kind of glad that she wasn't in love with Eames. Otherwise she'd probably be just as irked as Arthur.

Once they were done eating lunch, Eames and Cobb sat hunched together at the desk while Arthur worked on his laptop. Ariadne assumed he was doing some more research for their main plan, the one they intended to go with, but mostly she was just glad that he was being quiet. After all the sniping that morning, it was nice to have some peace.

The team worked in relative tranquility until it was well past dinner time. Ariadne could tell from the intent gleam in Eames' eyes that there was no way she was going to be dragging him out with her tonight, so she didn't even try.

"Wanna go grab a bite?" Cobb asked her, just before she could ask him. She grinned and nodded; she was starving.

As she collected herself to go, the thought struck her that she didn't want to undo all the good she had done by accepting Cobb's offer of dinner as eagerly as she had invited Eames along with her the other night.

Arthur was shutting his laptop down but Eames seemed to be settling in at his desk with no intent to leave. Ariadne frowned slightly and approached him.

His hair was still mussed from where he'd been dragging his fingers through it, and he'd bitten his lips red; a bad habit that she couldn't bring herself to mind right in this moment.

"Eames." Ariadne purred, leaning down. She bent over him as he sat back, slouching in his chair, so that her mouth was right next to his ear, one hand coming to rest on his broad shoulder. She spoke softly, so that only he would hear, allowing her lower lip to brush his earlobe ever so briefly. "If you weren't in love with someone else and ninety percent probably gay, I would suggest we have sex right now."

She straightened and smirked down at him, watching pink wash through his cheeks above the stubble. Eames blushing; who knew he was capable? He looked cute enough, and sexy enough with his crazy hair and wide eyes, that she found she hadn't been speaking an untruth. If he'd been willing, so would she have been.

"Make sure you eat something, okay?" she prompted, in a normal tone, giving him a more gentle smile and brushing her fingertips over his hot cheek. "We can't have you wasting away on us."

He nodded dumbly, then his gaze shifted. Ariadne turned and they both watched as Arthur flounced -- Ariadne could think of no other word for it -- out of the suite, door slamming behind him.

Cobb squinted at her, suddenly seeming suspicious, but he didn't say anything. Ariadne smiled sweetly.

Honestly. It wasn't a smirk at all.

***

Eames groaned, rubbing at the back of his neck, then sinking his fingers into his hair, flexing them, scratching his nails against his scalp. Every touch felt far away, as though he was removed from the surface of his skin, his sense of touch muted. His eyes felt like they were filled with sand, and yet he didn't dare to close them. Last time he'd tried to "rest his eyes", he'd dozed off for a good ten minutes and had almost fallen out of his chair before starting awake.

He was really regretting his offer to be the second back-up plan. Not only would it put him in an uncomfortable position of having to get intimate with the mark if they needed to implement it, but he was vital to both of their other plans, including the primary one, and so he'd nearly tripled the work he was going to have to do to prepare for this job.

He was exhausted, but he had to keep at it. For one thing, he didn't want to enter the dream-share without being ready. And for another... well, Arthur was still pissed at him. In fact, the more effort he put into this job, the more angry Arthur seemed to get. That was enough to make Eames want to throw up his hands and give up entirely. Except for the part where he needed to be on top of his game in order to get through this thing, which meant studying everything Arthur had given him to read and making sure to plan for everything.

He just couldn't do anything right, and it was wearing on him as badly as the actual work he was doing. Because Eames _hated_ it when Arthur was angry at him.

Something small and white came into his frame of vision; Ariadne's hand. And in her hand, she was holding something large and white. Something that he fixated on immediately.

"Earl Grey tea latte," Ariadne informed him, putting the cardboard cup down on his desk. It smelled... well, frankly it smelled delicious, even though the idea of it was completely horrifying.

Most importantly, though, it had _caffeine_. That was all that truly mattered now.

"Thanks, love," he said, reaching for it gratefully.

"Welcome," she said, leaning in and brushing a kiss on his cheek. Eames tried to fight off a blush, but he was just too worn down to have much control over his physical reactions. He really needed some sleep, but in the absence of that, he'd settle for this drink.

"You should go into the bedroom and take a nap," Ariadne suggested, reaching to run her fingers through his hair. There was a little line between her brows, her frown more concerned than disapproving.

They didn't have much use for the bedroom of the suite; generally it functioned as their catch-all storage area. They tossed in extra clothing, Ariadne's model supplies, the chemicals for the PASIV devices.... But they always kept one bed clear, just in case. So far no one had used it -- they did their dreaming work out in the main room, on the sofa and loveseat -- but that didn't mean that it wasn't there. Tempting. Present. A soft and welcoming possibility.

Still, a man had his pride, no matter how knackered. And so Eames scoffed. "A nap? What are we, in primary school?" He snorted, then lifted the cardboard cup to his lips.

"I'd be willing to join you," Ariadne purred, smirking and leaning down in what she obviously thought was a seductive manner. "Curl up around you while you sleep."

Eames was so busy choking on the mouthful of latte he'd inhaled that he missed hearing whatever it was that Arthur said, but the point man had made some sort of a noise, and since he was Arthur, it _must_ have been words.

Ariadne flashed Arthur a look which Eames could not interpret, but then it wasn't meant for him, now, was it?

"Um, no thank you," he gasped, as soon as he quit coughing up latte. "Ta for the thought, though."

She shrugged and gave him a small grin. "Can't blame a gal for trying."

Arthur muttered something that Eames didn't catch.... But, then again, if he'd tried he thought he probably could have guessed what it had been.

Honestly, he had no idea what Ariadne was on about; she had already gotten him to admit that he was in lo-- that he had _feelings_ for Arthur. Surely she didn't think she stood a chance, and if she had, there was little possibility that _she_ would want _Eames_. If anything, he'd have thought that she might want to swoop in and claim Arthur for herself... only he trusted that she wouldn't do anything so cruel. Still, it was a far more likely scenario than her having any real interest in Eames. After all, in her own words, she was well aware of his inclinations and his feelings for a certain infuriating point man.

Then again, perhaps Ariadne was simply concerned that Eames was working himself too hard, and didn't mean anything more by it. He _was_ driving himself into the ground, in all honesty. But that wasn't any of her business, darling girl that she was for worrying.

"I'm fine," he told her firmly, taking a bracing mouthful of his horribly bastardized tea. At this point Cobb came in and called Ariadne over to her maze models, and so Eames turned his attention back to the stacks of papers on his desk. He was making headway; the "to study" pile was getting a lot shorter. But he still had a good deal more information to internalize before the job. Along with two different forgeries and potentially renewing the acquaintance he and the mark had struck up in the club.

He was a busy man and he had no time to wonder why exactly Arthur was staring at him the way he was. Even if it _was_ raising the hairs on the nape of his neck.

***

It was well past two in the morning, and Arthur had forgotten some important papers back at the suite they'd been using as their headquarters. This was especially annoying because he'd already gotten comfortable and settled in for the night in his hotel room. But he _needed_ that information, and so there was nothing for it but to go and fetch the papers.

Unfortunately, he wasn't staying at the same hotel they had been working in. None of them were, as much for the sake of safety as due to paranoia, Cobb insisted. Fortunately, it _was_ just around the corner. A brisk walk got Arthur there without the need for a taxi or any method transportation other than his own feet.

He let himself in, and was surprised to find that the lights were all still on. He was just about to become annoyed with Eames, who had been the last to leave, when he recognized that Eames _had not left_ , which would be the reason for the lights still being on.

He blinked, walking into the suite and swallowing down his automatic reaction, which was to demand to know what Eames was still doing here. If he'd known that he'd find _any_ of his team members here, he wouldn't be wearing a bulky parka over a simple turtleneck, and his hair wouldn't be an untamed mess, left that way after his shower. He liked to present a professional demeanor at all points during any given job, to everyone involved.

That was something that Eames had evidently given up on. His back was to Arthur, but he could see that the man had done nothing to control his own hair, which was nothing but a mass of crazy cowlicks, and that he had shed himself of his jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose muscle-corded forearms. The suite was cold, the window wide open, and Arthur supposed it was meant to be bracing, but he just thought that it was uncomfortable.

Eames had done nothing to acknowledge his entrance, but he knew from the tension in the man's broad shoulders that he was aware of Arthur's presence. He paced over to the desk, curious despite himself, even though whatever Eames was doing was only Eames' business. But, then again, they were on the same job, weren't they?

He came to stand beside the desk, staring down at the sheet of paper that Eames was... _doodling_ on?

"Are those stick figures?" Arthur asked incredulously, his brows rising toward his hairline.

Eames scowled up at him and Arthur was taken aback by the bruised looking shadows under his stormy grey eyes. He remembered Ariadne nagging at Eames about his sleeping habits, and now he was beginning to think that she was right to do so.

Although he still thought that her offer to take a nap with the man had been more than a little inappropriate. But he could understand the sentiment behind her concern, seeing Eames look so exhausted at the moment.

"There are ways to compose one's thoughts other than the written word," Eames said with great deliberation; possibly to try to disguise the way he was slurring. It was exhaustion, it had to be, because he certainly wasn't drunk. Arthur would have smelled it, and, anyway, he trusted that Eames wouldn't get drunk during this job. In fact, the shape that the man was clearly in if he'd had anything alcoholic to drink it most likely would have put him straight to sleep.

That mightn't have been a bad idea, Arthur mused. Eames really did look dragged out.

"You should go to bed," he murmured. "Now."

Eames rubbed at his eyes blearily. "And what if something goes wrong during the job, then?" he asked, slumping back in his chair and staring up at Arthur as though he was a complete stranger. "It's my responsibility to see that it all goes well."

"No, it's _our_ responsibility," Arthur shot back, folding his arms and scowling in an attempt to distract from the way he felt self-conscious about his clothing and hair... and also to distract from the fact that he was actually worried about Eames. And possibly a bit piqued that Eames hadn't _mentioned_ his clothing and hair, even though this was ridiculous and he ought to be grateful for that fact.

"Besides, you're only going to screw things up if you've exhausted yourself before we even make the attempt," he added, and that was probably a bit harsh, a little mean, but he really wanted Eames to get to bed and get some sleep.

Eames stuck his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, looking up at Arthur with soulful eyes. He also looked as though he was about to keel over.

Arthur sighed, went and got the papers he'd originally come for, closed the open window, then returned to the desk. "Come on," he said, grasping Eames' by the arm and chivvying him to his feet. The two of them were staying at the same hotel, on different floors, and there was no way Arthur was walking out the door and leaving the forger alone here to work for who knew how much longer. It wouldn't have been responsible of him. If Eames wasn't going to take care of himself, Arthur was going to have to do it for him.

Eames didn't protest, even when Arthur practically manhandled him into his jacket, although he did give Arthur some sidelong glances. Arthur noted that Eames had very long lashes, something he had somehow been unaware of before. Along with his sharp cheekbones, plush lips, and well-defined muscles, he certainly made up a tempting package, even when his eyes looked bruised from lack of sleep and his gaze was cloudy and vague.

He shouldn't be noticing that, though. It wasn't his place to do so. They were nothing more than co-workers, colleagues, even if Ariadne seemed to be trying to blur the lines between them. Between herself and Eames more than herself and Arthur, of course.

Arthur got Eames as far as the elevator in their own hotel building in complete silence. He punched the button for Eames' floor, and Eames slumped back against the wall, yawning widely. Finally Arthur felt compelled to say something.

"You should take better care of yourself," he said briskly as the elevator rumbled into motion. "The entire job isn't depending on you." He frowned. "And if it _were_ , then that would be all the more reason not to run yourself ragged."

Eames was scowling at him, looking upset and... hurt? "I'm only trying to live up to your exacting standards, Arthur," he snapped, hard and angry. "Not all of us are as perfect and efficient as you are."

Arthur arched a brow, loosing a scoffing snort. "Now I _know_ you need sleep," he said, ignoring the way his gut wrenched at Eames' words, at the raw truth in them that Eames probably hadn't meant to expose. Also, at the blind faith that Eames had in him. It was so flattering and yet so misplaced that he found it to be a little terrifying. He hated being scared and he hated feeling out of control, and Eames was making him feel both right now.

"Yes, yes," Eames said airily, waving a hand, then staggering slightly as the elevator ground to a stop. Arthur's hand shot out, instinctively, but Eames caught his balance and gave him a harsh glare, before stalking stiffly out the opening doors.

Arthur followed. It was because he was concerned about Eames' ability to reach his room safely, not to prolong their conversation. Seriously.

"You and Ariadne can gang up on me," Eames continued, and he was slurring again, but he seemed steady enough as he pulled out his keycard and moved to unlock his door. "Lord knows you're both overly concerned about my health lately." He shook his head, his brow creased in a deep frown.

"About Ariadne," Arthur said, pouncing, because it had been Eames who had brought the subject up, and he wasn't going to get a better chance than this. "You should really stop flirting with her, Eames."

"What?" Eames turned, leaning heavily against the doorframe, propping the door open with his body but making no move to enter. That was just as well, Arthur thought vaguely, because herding Eames to his hotel room and engaging him on this awkward subject... well, those things were questionable enough. But barging into the man's private retreat would have been going a bit too far. "Flirting?"

"You think I haven't noticed?" Arthur snapped, suddenly unaccountably annoyed. And Eames was staring at him blankly, looking utterly worn out, and he'd done that to _himself_ , trying to live up to some impossible expectation that he _thought_ Arthur was holding him to, and that just made Arthur feel more annoyed, even though it was hardly fair. "It's not as though you guys have been subtle. You're too.... You're not right for her, Eames."

For a long moment Eames just stared at him, and some sort of powerful emotion flickered in his eyes, bringing a little life back to his masklike face. Then he grinned, but it wasn't a happy expression, his full lips twisting harshly at one corner. He shook his head. "Oh, Arthur."

"What?" Arthur snapped, folding his arms. He hated when Eames did this; acted like he knew something that Arthur didn't. It drove him crazy, every time.

Which was probably why Eames did it, he thought in annoyance.

"Trust me in this if nothing else," Eames drawled in a tone that was deeply exhausted, blatantly long-suffering, and completely infuriating. "Ariadne knows the score, even if you don't."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" Arthur demanded, fighting the desire to reach forward, take Eames by his upper arms, and _shake_ him until his teeth rattled.

But Eames only shook his head again, and his smile turned strangely sad. "Good night, Arthur," he murmured, then he had vanished into his room, leaving Arthur standing before the closed door at an hour approaching three in the morning, his head swimming with questions and conflict.

Arthur recalled all over again that talking to Eames was an exercise in futility. He didn't know why he even bothered.

And that... was a lie. But not one he cared to examine too closely.

With an explosive sigh he returned to the elevator, intent on heading to his own room and forgetting about Eames for the rest of the night.

He did hope that Eames was getting some sleep, however. The man needed it, desperately.

***

It wasn't even amusing anymore, Ariadne decided. It was pathetic and kind of anger inducing, at least on her part. So, since she had never been one to shy away from a full frontal attack, she decided to strike at the source.

That turned out to be simple enough; she didn't even have to employ the intricate plan she had come up with, involving anonymous phone messages and false leads.

Eames had called Cobb to say he was taking a half-day and he'd be in around noon. Since they all knew how hard the forger had been working, since so much of their plan was riding on him, and since there was a limit as to how much more he was going to be able do before the actual job itself, no one begrudged him one morning to sleep in. Not even Arthur, apparently, since his expression when Cobb communicated this to them seemed more concerned than annoyed.

So when Cobb went out to run some last minute errands -- and probably to call his kids in private, Ariadne thought, not that she blamed him -- that presented Ariadne with a perfect opportunity. And she seized it with both hands.

"Arthur, you're a dumbass," was probably not the most diplomatic way to begin, but the words just burst out of her. And they certainly got the man's attention.

His head shot up, and he stared at her over his laptop as she flopped down on the loveseat across the coffee table from him. When their group had first settled into the suite, everyone had staked claim on their own particular spots. Eames had appropriated the desk, sighting the stacks of paperwork Arthur expected him to go through. Ariadne had nabbed the table in the tiny kitchenette, since there had been nowhere else to work on her models. And so far as she could tell, Arthur and Cobb had seemed largely content with the sofa and loveseat in the small living area. That was where Arthur was now, when Ariadne had decided to finally confront him.

"Excuse me?" Arthur blinked at her, his expression blank with surprise. At least he wasn't pissed off. Yet.

Ariadne sighed. She probably shouldn't have started out in such an aggressive manner, but it was too late to take it back. And being subtle hadn't worked; obviously she'd been being too... well, _subtle_. So now it was time to try the sledgehammer approach. Even though Eames would have wanted to skin her if he'd known what she was doing. But Eames wasn't here, and she was tired of watching him suffer because he _just wouldn't do anything_. She wasn't going to tell Arthur what Eames had told her; she was only going to talk about what she herself had seen and surmised. That wasn't the same as betraying Eames' confidence....

Well, okay, it was definitely going behind the man's back. But it was for a good cause, she comforted herself.

"You're behaving like a dumbass," she qualified her accusation, because she was talking to Arthur and it was best to be specific. "If it was just affecting you, that would be one thing, but it's not."

"What... are you...?" Arthur was blinking rapidly, clearly confused, and she might have felt bad for him if she hadn't been so exasperated.

"Do you know why Eames is working himself into the ground?" she challenged, and she supposed it might have seemed a bit like a non sequitur to Arthur, but it really wasn't.

"He's--" Arthur cut himself off and suddenly squinted at her. She could _see_ his mind working away behind his suddenly impassive features.

"You _have_ noticed, haven't you?" Ariadne prompted.

"Yes," Arthur replied, but he was guarded now and not inclined to give her anything more than a direct reply. That was okay; she could work with that.

"So, have you figured out the reason?" she asked, tipping her head and giving him a smile that was mostly teeth.

"Enlighten me," Arthur said dryly, but he was still talking to her, still willing to listen, and she wasn't about to give up on this conversation. Not when it was so important. Not when she'd been trying so hard to get Arthur to figure things out on his own... and failing so miserably at that last.

"It's because he thinks you're mad at him, but he doesn't know why," she replied, allowing a little of the irritation she was feeling to slip into her voice and scowling at him as hard as she dared. "And before you say anything, he told me and Cobb as much the other day, so I'm not just guessing."

"I'm...." Arthur frowned, his gaze turning inward. "I'm not mad at him," he said, and he sounded so lost and forlorn that Ariadne almost forgave him for being such a dick -- especially since she'd been deliberately provoking him with her efforts at making him jealous -- but she wasn't letting him off the hook yet.

"You have been, actually," she said, sitting forward and resting her chin on one fist, giving him her full attention and a wide-eyed stare. "Now. Here's a better question; do _you_ know why you're mad at him?"

"I told you," Arthur snapped, though it was without a lot of heat, his expression still vague and thoughtful, "I'm not--" He blinked and suddenly his gaze snapped to Ariadne's face, all intent focus and sharp brown eyes. "What are you trying to imply here, Ariadne?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm not trying to imply anything," she grouched, flinging out her arms and collapsing back on the loveseat. "I'm trying to make a point!"

Arthur frowned. "Well, you're not trying very hard," he said mildly.

Ariadne stared at him a moment, then burst out laughing. She just couldn't help herself, even though this was a very serious subject. That had just been so... Arthur.

Arthur's lips twitched once, but he continued to stare at her steadily, clearly waiting for an explanation. Ariadne sobered. It was time for her to come clean, or else these two blockheads would never get anywhere. Also, she didn't _really_ want Arthur thinking that she had some kind of crush on Eames. Or that Eames might reciprocate, since he certainly didn't.

"You've been acting angry at Eames -- even if you're not actually angry at him -- because I've been trying to make you jealous."

There. She'd said it. It was out there.

"You've been... what?" Arthur asked, his face shutting down dangerously.

Ariadne bit her lower lip, knowing she was treading on thin ice, but it was too late to take back her confession. And she really didn't want to. "Look, I don't want to screw everything up for you guys, and I know it's none of my business. But you're jealous and he's pining, and it's just... it's just ridiculous!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at her, and it didn't look anything like Cobb's squint. It looked dangerous and focused, and Ariadne knew she was going to have to do some fast talking if she was going to salvage this.

"I'm sorry." And she was. Sort of. Well, not if it worked, but she made a good effort at looking contrite. And as cute and helpless as she could manage, even though she doubted that Arthur was likely to buy it. "I probably shouldn't have done it, but I was trying to prove a point."

"Who were you trying to prove it to?" Arthur asked, and he was at least taking this seriously, wasn't dismissing it all out of hand.

"Well, mostly you," she replied honestly. "I already got Eames to tell me how he feels. He's in love with you, by the way." Now it was her turn to squint at Arthur, not wanting to miss seeing his reaction to this blunt statement.

Mostly, he just looked... surprised. Which Ariadne didn't think was fair. Eames had been self aware. Ariadne had guessed. That Arthur hadn't known...? Well, that did explain a few things, though. Like why they weren't together yet.

"I wasn't sure how you felt, though," she continued, when it became apparent that Arthur wasn't going to say anything. She took heart from the fact that he hadn't shut her down, that his expression was open and still a little startled. "Not until after I started flirting with Eames, and you got so _cranky_."

Since Arthur wasn't biting her head off, she dared to grin at him. "Unless it was me you were jealous over. But that kiss during the Fischer job..." she shook her head. "It was sweet of you, but I could pretty much tell that I wasn't your type."

Arthur's brows winched up. "My type? And what would that be?"

Ariadne clasped her hands to avoid fidgeting. "Well, I'm thinking British, male, and more ruggedly handsome than pretty," she said as innocently as she could manage. "I would also add intelligent and talented, but those apply to me as well, so...."

Arthur ducked his head, trying to hide a smile, but those dimples gave him away every time.

"Am I forgiven?" Ariadne asked, her eyes wide and her own mouth fighting to turn up at the corners. She couldn't smile triumphantly yet; Arthur hadn't verbally capitulated.

"You've really been doing a number on Eames," Arthur said reproachfully, though he still didn't look angry. "On us both."

"That's practically a confession!" Ariadne crowed, pointing at him and straightening from her slouch. "You wouldn't have minded so much if you didn't care!"

Arthur took a breath, opened his mouth, and was obviously about to say something when Cobb let himself into the suite. Ariadne could have cursed.

"I'll take everything you've said under advisement," Arthur murmured at her, and she was going to have to be content with that. At least he hadn't gotten angry at her, and he seemed to be _somewhat_ receptive to the things she had been saying.

And now she could stop flirting with Eames. Which made her a little sad, but she knew that Eames would be more comfortable that way.

She'd put everything in Arthur's hands. Now she was just going to have to trust that he would make the right decision. If he didn't, she might have to do something dreadful to him. She didn't know what, but she'd think of something. Maybe she'd get Cobb involved.

Speaking of Cobb, as Arthur went out on the patio to make a phone call, their extractor settled himself where Arthur had been sitting, his hands clasped between his knees as he leaned toward her, his bright blue eyes fixed on her face.

"Ariadne, can I talk to you?"

She blinked at him, feeling a little bit like Arthur must have felt when she'd started their recent conversation. "Sure," she said, shrugging.

"I've been watching," he said, then he seemed to rethink his words. "I mean, I couldn't help noticing...."

Ariadne was beginning to get a glimmer of what he might be trying to say; after all, there was really only one thing that she'd changed about her behavior recently.

"Yeah?" she prompted, not helping him out at all.

"I just... I don't want to see you to get your hopes up," Cobb said, and his face was pinched in a concerned expression, his voice gentle. He reached forward and clasped one of her hands in his own large paws. "Because I'm pretty sure that Eames.... Well, I'm pretty sure that Eames is in love with Arthur."

Ariadne couldn't help it; it was kind of mean of her, but she simply couldn't do anything other than burst out laughing.

***

Eames was a little surprised when the job ended up coming off flawlessly. Perhaps he shouldn't have been; they'd all worked very hard to make sure that nothing went wrong, and that they'd had plans upon plans in case anything _had_.

It was almost anticlimactic when their initial plan worked perfectly. Eames knew he should be happy, that he should feel satisfied. After all, this was what he had nearly killed himself in pursuit of, right? Well, perhaps not literally, but he had hardly needed any of the information he'd gone cross-eyed reading, after all was said and done.

Then again, Arthur didn't seem to be angry at him any longer, so it hadn't been a complete and utter waste of time after all, right?

Eames still didn't know why Arthur _had_ been so pissed nor could he figure out why the man wasn't any longer. He would have liked to have known, didn't like being stuck in the dark, but he had too much pride to ask. Mostly he was just glad that it was over with.

Now he was feeling the same thing that he felt after every job, but mostly especially any job that he worked with Arthur; a combination of relief and disappointment. He didn't have to think on it too hard to figure out the whys and wherefores of it. This particular job had been a strange one from the get-go, he had to admit. Or, rather, it hadn't been the job, but the team members he'd been working with that had been strange. Mainly Ariadne, though Arthur hadn't been his usual easy-going self either. And heaven knew Eames had been acting out of character, with all his focus on the paperwork Arthur had thrust upon him. He was self aware enough to realize this.

It was more than a trifle disturbing to realize that _Cobb_ had been the most normal of their group during this job. Eames wouldn't have thought that he'd ever have seen the day.

Everything had gone so smoothly that there had been no need to disband, to disappear in different directions once it was over with. Eames was inclined to do so, out of habit if nothing else, but then Ariadne demanded that they all get together for a celebration dinner. And if Eames were the sort of man who could refuse a beautiful young woman... well, then he would have gotten himself into considerably less trouble these last several days, much less the majority of his adult life.

Ariadne was sweet and of good cheer once she had gotten her way. She wasn't flirting with Eames anymore, which was a definite relief. Cobb was smug at the same time that he was very verbally appreciative of Eames' efforts. That was nice, even though he kept shooting both Eames and Arthur some strange looks. Eames had given up trying to figure out why.

And Arthur.... Well, Arthur was just as complimentary as Cobb had been, he smiled at Eames honestly, and it almost seemed as though he _hadn't_ spent nearly the last week in a foul mood, snapping at just about everything that Eames had said or done.

It was confusing and more than a little vexing, Eames thought. But he only had to make it through this evening, and then he could be on his way. He didn't have anything lined up, but neither did Cobb, and Eames was going to take the chance to escape. He was in demand and could find work just about anywhere, with just about anyone. A chance to do a job or two without bizarre interpersonal interactions where his team members were concerned was just what he needed.

Of course, leave it to Arthur to throw this very prudent plan for a complete loop. The man really had no sense of awareness where the needs and desires of others was concerned.

All right, that wasn't true at all. Eames couldn't cultivate untruths about Arthur, even in the privacy of his own mind. Still, he couldn't help thinking that if Arthur understood the power that he had over Eames, he probably wouldn't misuse it. Probably.

"So, there's this job in Russia," Arthur said casually as they stood outside the door of the restaurant once dinner was over, watching Cobb attempting to flag down a cab, Ariadne giggling at him the whole while. Their little architect had had perhaps a bit too much to drink. But then, the same could be said for their not-so-little extractor. Which was part of what made watching the two of them so amusing.

Eames grinned, even though he didn't really feel very cheery. The relief was starting to fade and he was feeling more disappointment than he was used to. He was actually going to _miss_ working with Ariadne. He might miss Cobb a bit. And of course he would miss Arthur; he always missed Arthur when they were apart.

"Really?" he murmured, more because he felt it was polite than out of any overwhelming interest. Oh, he was always interested in Arthur and what Arthur was doing. But now Arthur was going to be working, far away from Eames. And so it was hard to summon the right motivation to sound cheerful about it.

Arthur nodded, his face solemn, even though his cheeks were a little flushed. Ariadne and Cobb weren't the only ones who had been enjoying the wine. Eames himself had abstained, well aware that if he'd had anything to drink it would have put him right to sleep. And nodding off during their celebratory dinner would have been in poor form.

"We don't have a forger lined up," Arthur continued, his voice steady, his expression far more open than Eames was used to seeing it. He didn't know what to make of it. "I was wondering if I could interest you in the role."

There was finally a cab pulling up to the curb. Since they'd been staying at the same hotel, they would all four of them be taking it back. Eames was going to have to decide quickly.

Eames grimaced. "I don't know," he hedged. He was terribly tempted, and yet he knew at the same time that it felt like a bad idea. "Russia is wretchedly cold right now...."

Arthur grinned and shook his head. "We'll be staying indoors most of the time, Eames. I'd really feel better if you were on this job with me."

It was the dimples that did him in, Eames would later swear. He was helpless against them. And before he knew it, he had agreed to go with Arthur to _Russia_ of all places.

Honestly, he thought that sometimes his brain was trying to destroy him.

"Come on, you guys," Ariadne called, waving them over. And so they went. One didn't deny the request of a lovely young woman, even when it was couched as a demand.

Some might say, especially then.

***

Arthur's brilliant plan -- inasmuch as he had made plans rather than simply reacting emotionally -- had been to tackle the subject head-on. He wasn't the sort of man who beat around the bush, and while there hadn't been any good time to talk on the plane, not when Eames had dozed off almost before takeoff and slept the sleep of the completely exhausted all the way there, Arthur didn't intend to leave it for long after that.

Unfortunately, the Russian mafia and the fact that they were out for his blood kind of threw a wrench into even the best laid plans, much less a half-assed one like this.

Or maybe it was Eames that they wanted to kill. That seemed far more likely, actually, since Arthur couldn't remember ever having done anything untoward while in Russia. But either way, they had barely hit terra firma when suddenly several menacing, well-armed thugs were chasing both of them. There were bullets and a high speed car chase, and all of this was happening in reality, not in a dream.

Arthur was, understandably, a bit peevish. But the renewed light in Eames' eyes and the wide grin splitting his lips as he paced Arthur... well, that helped Arthur to cement his feelings. Which, despite Ariadne's pointed challenge, despite his intentions to speak to Eames bluntly on the matter, he had to admit he hadn't been completely certain of.

Now, on the run, with their lives at risk, Arthur knew that there wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be. Well, okay, maybe safely in their hotel room, taking Eames to bed, in all the definitions of this pat phrase. But there wasn't anyone else he'd rather be on the run with, no one else he would trust at his back the way he was trusting Eames now.

It was something of a revelation, but a welcome one. And as soon as they reached a moment where they had a little breathing room, a bubble of safety, he was going to share his thoughts on the matter.

Confessing to Eames might be more scary than being shot at by the Russian mafia, but it was even worse to think of doing nothing and only seeing Eames rarely, when they happened to work on the same jobs in the future, and then only on a professional level. That was unacceptable.

They were doing all right at the moment; they'd lifted some guns off of their first set of attackers, and Arthur thought that there was a good chance they'd lost the latest set, at least temporarily.

So, of course, that was the point at which Eames' grip slipped and he managed to _fall off a roof_.

Arthur got down to ground level as quickly as he could and arrived just as Eames was fumbling his way onto his hands and knees.

"Ow ow ow...."

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," Eames gasped, and he seemed winded, but that only made sense after the landing he'd just had. "I'm fine, I had a couple of ribs to break my fall."

"This isn't a dream, Eames," Arthur snapped, suddenly feeling furious, most likely because he was so worried. "Don't try to laugh this off!"

Eames grinned at him, even though his eyes were watery with pain. "Pretty sure laughing would hurt like a bitch right now, waking or dreaming," he wheezed, and there was crimson stained on his mouth and teeth, which froze Arthur's blood for a moment, _internal bleeding_ ringing loud inside his head, before he realized that Eames had merely split his lip. He relaxed a little, but only a little, because as he prodded carefully at Eames' chest, he could be pretty sure that the man had at least a couple of cracked ribs.

"I don't think they're broken," he said, frowning intently down at the spread of his fingers over Eames' torso, trying to tell himself that now was _not_ the time to be dwelling on how right they looked there, or how long he'd been wanting to get his hands on Eames.... Not this way, though, of course. And now there would be none of that until after Eames had healed. Provided they escaped and lived to see another day.

"Can you stand?" he asked sharply.

"I can stand, walk, run, and shoot," Eames replied, overly cheerfully, his face drawn in something that was more a grimace than a smile. "All in excruciating pain, mind you."

Arthur loosed a heartfelt curse and Eames gave him a curious look. "I'll be fine, Arthur," he rumbled, wincing as he moved to stand. Arthur quickly gave him a hand up, and he _did_ remain on his feet, even though he was swaying far more than Arthur liked. "I won't slow you down. I know how to ignore pain, how to push through it."

"You say that like it's a conscious decision," Arthur shot back, once again hiding his concern behind anger. "But when your body has had enough, it's had enough. I can't have you passing out on me in the middle of a gun fight or a high speed chase!"

Eames blinked at him, and it made Arthur even more worried and even more angry to see the way he seemed to be having trouble focusing his eyes. He didn't think Eames had hit his head, but now he thought maybe he should check.

"Arthur," Eames said, his accent curling around Arthur's name the way it always did. The way he'd come to almost expect and, he had to admit, enjoy. "If you're that concerned, you have my full permission to leave me behind if I fall."

Arthur could feel his eyes snap wide, and his face wash free of all blood. Then it rushed back, and he knew he was bright red as he yelled at Eames, disregarding the possible danger of discovery this courted.

"You fucking bastard! Do you really think I'd do something like that?!"

"I--" Under other circumstances the expression of surprise on Eames' face might be amusing. But Arthur was angry and, yes, _hurt_ to know what Eames thought he was capable of where Eames and his wellbeing were concerned. It wasn't as though Arthur went around broadcasting his emotions, true, but Eames really thought he was that uncaring?

"Come on," Arthur snarled, grabbing Eames by the arm, careful to be sure it the side that he hadn't landed on, and dragging him toward what he assumed and sincerely hoped was safety.

Eames, to his credit, knew enough to let the subject drop and meekly follow Arthur. Or maybe he was just in too much pain to continue the conversation.

It took half a day, three stolen cars, and two more high speed chases, then the earliest flight out of Russia that Arthur could manage, but they did indeed reach a place where he felt that they were safe. As safe as they were going to get anyway; at least they were out of the country. Arthur contacted the extractor who'd been planning the job, and they mutually agreed that it would be prudent for Arthur to pass on this one. Arthur still thought that it had been Eames that the thugs been after, but since he and Arthur were now to be considered a package deal -- even though Eames might not know this yet -- that meant they both had to bow out.

They were in coach seats due to the fact that Arthur hadn't had the time to be picky. Eames was clearly still in pain and just as clearly trying to hide it. But at least it was a relatively short flight and they'd be a warmer clime once they landed.

Unlike the flight in, Eames didn't sleep. He was fidgeting and gnawing on his lower lip, and even though he stilled every time he noticed Arthur noticing, it was glaringly obvious that he was hurting. Arthur wished he had something stronger than ibuprofen to share with the man, but he didn't.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, once they'd been in the air for a while and almost everyone around them was drowsing or occupied with something.

"For what?" Eames asked, frowning at him. "I'm the one who unintentionally insulted your gentlemanly nature. Something that I apologize for, by the way. I hope you know that I wasn't really serious."

Arthur gave him a fleeting smile. "I think that you were, but I intend to change your opinion of me," he offered. "No, I was saying I was sorry because the job in Russia was mine."

"And yet the murderous tail was mine," Eames put in quickly. Then his brow furrowed. "I think."

"Probably," Arthur allowed, but he was smiling slightly as he said it.

This seemed to throw Eames off a little, and he stilled, turning to look out the window. He kept repeatedly glancing at Arthur, though.

"I wouldn't, you know," Arthur said softly, because he felt like it was important to make this point.

"What?" Eames, perhaps expectedly, wasn't following.

"Leave you behind." Arthur shifted, carefully clasping his fingers around Eames' wrist, a brief touch before pulling his hand away. "I wouldn't."

"Oh." Eames licked his lips then offered Arthur a smile that had a certain amount of blankness behind it. "That's good to know."

He might not quite get it, Arthur thought with a grim smile as he settled back into his narrow coach seat, Eames' upper arm warm and solid alongside his own, but he was going to.

Because Arthur had no intention of leaving Eames behind now, either. Not ever again.

***

Ariadne waited in silence for just over a week, until she couldn't stand it any more. Grabbing her cell phone, she texted Arthur.

 _[Have you told him yet?]_

She wasn't expecting an immediate response, thought she might not get one at all. Even though she'd been the one to introduce the subject to Arthur, it wasn't really her business. So she was more than a little surprised when she got a reply within seconds.

 _[Not yet.]_

 _[Why not?]_

 _[Russian mafia.]_

She bit her lip. God, the messes those guys got into when she wasn't around to keep them out of trouble!

 _[Are you okay?]_

 _[We're safe.]_

She sighed, feeling a little relieved. And pleased, because Arthur had said "we", which meant that hopefully he still had Eames with him, even if he hadn't confessed his feelings to the man yet.

 _[Tell him!]_

She gnawed at her lower lip, waiting for Arthur to blow her off, to inform her it was none of her concern, to change the subject, or maybe just refuse to reply....

 _[I'm waiting for his ribs to heal.]_

"What?!" she squawked, quickly pressing the buttons to call Arthur directly before she could think better of it.

"Hello, Ariadne," Arthur greeted after one ring, sounding far too cheerful, all things considered.

"Tell me how broken ribs are okay!" Ariadne demanded fiercely.

"They're cracked, not broken," Arthur said evenly, not at all affected by her vehemence. "And I said safe; I didn't say okay."

Ariadne huffed, not placated in the slightest. "Where are you guys?"

"Somewhere safe," Arthur replied, and she could tell that this was all she was going to get out of him. She made a mental note to tell Cobb to dig up another job _soon_ that needed both a point man and a forger, because clearly Eames and Arthur needed her continued supervision.

"And Eames will be all right?"

"The hardest part is keeping him still, so that he doesn't aggravate his ribs," Arthur complained, and Ariadne felt her heart warm at the fond exasperation in his voice. If she hadn't already been convinced that they were perfect for one another -- which, for the record, she had been -- that right there would have cinched it in her mind.

"And once they're healed, you're going to tell him?" she pursued, fairly confident that he wasn't going to snap at her to mind her own business if he hadn't so far. "Hasn't he already guessed? Seeing as you're taking care of him and all...."

"The workings of Eames' mind are a mystery to me," Arthur deadpanned, and Ariadne could hear a muffled sound of protest. She realized that Eames must be able to hear Arthur's side of the conversation, and so she wasn't going to be getting any good answers out of Arthur. Not to any of the questions she _really_ wanted to ask, at any rate.

"So what happened?" she wanted to know, because while their hypothetical relationship might be verboten, there were other particulars Arthur could and _would_ fill her in on. "How did Eames get hurt? And don't just say 'Russian mafia again', as exciting as that sounds."

"He fell off a roof," Arthur replied smoothly and without hesitation.

"Hey," Ariadne could hear Eames protest sleepily as she remained silent, torn between amusement and horror. "Who're you telling tales to?"

"Ariadne," Arthur said, and Ariadne liked to imagine that he was running his elegant fingers through Eames' sleep-rumpled hair, even though she was well aware that this probably wasn't happening outside her mind's eye. "You don't think I'd tell anyone else, do you?"

"Maybe Cobb," she heard Eames mumble almost incoherently through a yawn. "Tell her I said hello, yeah?"

"Eames says hello," Arthur informed her, and she could swear she heard the sounds of bedcovers rustling. Really, if Arthur didn't tell Eames how he felt about him soon, she was going to burst with impatience, whether it was any of her business or not.

"Arthur, you have to confess!" she hissed urgently, trying to keep her voice down in case Eames could hear her end of the conversation. "Quick! While he's too weak to escape!"

Arthur actually _laughed_. "He's not going to run away," he told her with obnoxious certainty. "Besides, if he did I'd just hunt him down and catch him."

Ariadne blinked. "Eames...."

"Is in the bathroom now," Arthur finished for her. "And he made it up out of bed and across the room without wincing, so I think he's on the mend."

"But what are you _waiting_ for?" Ariadne asked in exasperation, and maybe this time Arthur would answer, since Eames was out earshot.

"Well, once we get things straightened out between us, I fully intend to fuck Eames into the mattress," Arthur replied in a matter of fact tone of voice. "So it only makes sense to hold off until he can move without pain. Right?"

Ariadne couldn't really reply, considering that Arthur had kind of broken her with the visuals his blunt words had just put into her head.

"Um."

If Arthur had been hoping to shut her up, it had worked. If he'd been trying to turn her off, though... well, he'd kind of managed the opposite of that. Because as attractive as Ariadne had discovered Eames to be during her little stint of flirting with the forger, Arthur was just as good looking. So picturing the two of them together was... mm, twice as good. And now she didn't have to feel guilty over any such fantasies, because Arthur _had said it first_. He'd gone there, so it was totally his fault if she went there as well!

"Look, I'll talk to you later, okay?"

Ariadne grinned at the sudden briskness in Arthur's tone. She liked to imagine that he was going to take the opportunity to jerk off while Eames was showering, impatient and horny at having to hold off, frustrated by the fact that there was only one thin door and a boatload of unspoken emotions standing between them, keeping him from putting his hands all over Eames' wet, soapy body....

Aw, dammit, now she was getting _herself_ all riled up.

"Tell me when you get together with Eames," she said, as sweetly as she was able when she was a little breathless from arousal. "Because if you don't, I _will_ find some way to get even. I don't know how yet, but you _know_ how inventive I can be."

She thought she heard a little catch in Arthur's breathing, liked to think that she had him the slightest bit concerned by her threat, but his voice was perfectly calm and even when he replied.

"I'm sure you'll be the first to know, after the two of us."

Ariadne frowned, because that wasn't a promise, was nothing like a promise, and she knew she wasn't going to be getting a promise out of Arthur, no matter how hard she tried to push.

"Good-bye," Arthur was saying, and she barely had time to say, "Bye," in reply before he had hung up.

She pulled a long face at her phone, then, because she couldn't allow Arthur to have the last word, she fired off a quick text.

 _[Thanks for the happy thoughts. Hope you're thinking your own right now.]_

Let him make of that what he would. Hopefully he'd figure out exactly what she meant, because that would serve him right.

And if he didn't make his move soon, she _was_ going to get involved. She'd gotten this started and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to see it through.

***

A week and three days after his little "tumble", Eames found himself bending to retrieve a pen from the floor, and realized that he was able to do so without pain. Maybe his ribs had only been bruised, not cracked, he thought with relief.

Of course, now that he was in good health, he fully expected Arthur to scarper off, his strange bout of misplaced guilt fully assuaged.

What Eames _hadn't_ expected, was to raise his gaze and find a sharp, hungry, somehow familiar light in Arthur's lovely espresso-dark eyes.

If Eames hadn't known better, he might have called Arthur's expression... predatory.

Well, probably Arthur was just glad that he would soon be shed of his nursing duties. Eames almost thought that _he_ would be relieved. While he enjoyed spending time with Arthur, and _very_ much appreciated the attention he'd been getting from the other man, it had put a strange sort of pressure on him at the same time. He had spent nearly the entire ten days wondering what Arthur was doing, why he was here, and worrying that he himself might give too much away.

It was rough, being on his guard all the time like that. It was easier during a job, when they went back their individual hotel rooms at the end of the day. When they were both acting like professionals under the eyes of other colleagues. When Eames didn't get to see what Arthur looked like first thing in the morning, or just before he went to bed....

For the past ten days they'd been sharing a hotel room. They'd made it as far as the south of Spain before finding a place to hole up, and Eames could only applaud Arthur's choice in lodgings. The room was airy and yet secure, the furnishings tasteful and expensive. They weren't either of them hurting for money, and Arthur evidently had no qualms about ordering enough room service to keep them fed while Eames convalesced.

It was the sharing of space that was coming close to killing Eames. Always before he had seen Arthur arrive wherever they were working already pomaded and buttoned up, fully clothed and wearing his professional face.

Now, he got to see Arthur with his hair mussed and free of product. He got to see him in pajama bottoms and bare feet, scratching his stomach absently, completely zoned out until his morning coffee kicked in.

It humanized Arthur in a way that Eames had always suspected, but never thought that he'd get to see. It made it even harder and more painful to realize that he was never going to have that. Not the put-together, well-crafted Arthur that he worked with, nor the rumpled, flushed, sleepy, absolutely _delicious_ Arthur of their shared hotel room.

They were both Arthur and they were both equally fascinating. Eames was pretty sure Arthur had caught him staring, more than once. But then, on the other hand, he'd seen Arthur's eyes fixed on him far more often than he would have expected. And he couldn't figure out why. He'd understood it during their last job; Arthur had been concerned that Eames had been involved with Ariadne; as insane and fool-headed as that idea had been. But, evidently, Arthur didn't know Eames as well as he thought he did.

Then again, Eames supposed that the opposite of that was true as well. He'd always been aware that there was more to Arthur than he was allowed to see. That had always been part of the allure. But he was only now beginning to realize just how much he _hadn't_ known.

This "new" Arthur, the one with bed-head, the one who wandered out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist, the one who hunched over his laptop with no regard for his posture, the one who did his daily exercises without seeming to care that Eames was watching the entire time... this was a man that Eames hadn't gotten to see before, and one that he was increasingly grateful that he was getting to know. And if it was possible -- and he found that it _was_ possible -- he was falling even more in love than he had already been.

Damn Ariadne for making him face the truth of the matter, Eames thought a little unfairly. He'd been perfectly happy living his life in a state of partial denial. Now he was aware of just how much he wanted, and just what he could not have. And it was beginning to hurt. The pain in his ribs was fading, but the pain in his heart was growing.

Because Arthur was going to be leaving, sooner rather than later, and Eames didn't know when he was going to get to see him again.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked, as Eames put the pen down on the desk it had rolled off of, and stood to stretch experimentally. Arthur was seated on the bed he had claimed as his when they'd first entered the room, the one closer to the door and further from the bathroom. The bedcovers were a mess and he was wearing a simple striped button-up shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up his forearms. He hadn't bothered to pomade his hair, and he looked relaxed, at ease... almost happy. It wasn't that Eames had never seen Arthur in a pleased, comfortable state of mind before. But never when it had just been the two of them. Arthur had always been on his guard in that situation... and so had Eames been, he had to admit.

"Better," he replied, twisting slightly at the waist, his arms still raised, testing. There was no pain, no twinge, and he sighed, as much in distress as relief. "Perfectly recovered, I dare say. Thanks to your delightful mother henning."

He'd fallen back into flirting as a defense mechanism, he was well aware, and he fully expected Arthur to bristle, to get his back up, maybe to announce that it was time for them to go their separate ways.

Instead, Arthur gave him a slow smile. His eyes crinkled and those adorable dimples creased his cheeks, and he looked... he looked as though he _meant_ it, as though the expression was completely sincere.

"No more falling off of buildings, all right?" Arthur said smoothly, as he rose from the bed and paced toward Eames in stocking feet. Eames felt exposed in his bare feet, pyjama bottoms, and worn teeshirt, but he held firm where he was standing beside the desk. He was a grown man and he wasn't going to let Arthur intimidate him. Even though he had absolutely no idea what Arthur was going to do, why he was stepping in so close.

"Wasn't planning on it," he replied as lightly as he was able when he was feeling a little tongue-tied. Arthur was now so close that he could feel the body heat radiating off the other man, their toes nearly touching where they were standing on the hardwood floor. They were face to face, the couple of centimeters difference in their respective heights being fairly negligible, although Eames did straighten out of his usual slouch. It felt good to be able to stretch his ribs without pain, but Arthur's strange behaviour was confusing and distracting him.

"Have you ever had someone point something out to you," Arthur said, in a conversational tone of voice, as though he wasn't saying something completely unexpected and totally out of the blue, "Something that you should already have known, but didn't?"

Eames blinked, wondering where Arthur was coming from... and where he was going. But he knew what answer to give. After all, Ariadne had very recently brought something to his notice that he felt he ought to have had a greater awareness of. "Yes," he replied, wishing that Arthur would take a step back, wishing that he had the balls to take a step forward....

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, and Eames was beginning to wonder if he'd tumbled through a rabbit hole, or some portal into an alternate dimension or something when he'd fallen off that roof, because this was the second time since then that Arthur had apologized to him and sounded as though he meant it.

"What for?" he asked, because he really couldn't function with Arthur standing this close to him, and yet he didn't have the strength of will required to move away. Also, he had no idea what Arthur was on about.

"I'm sorry that I accused you of flirting with Ariadne," Arthur said, and he was smiling faintly, but his eyes were serious, leaving Eames no doubt that he was sincere in what he was saying. "I'm sorry for not believing you, for not trusting you. I should have known better."

"I...." Eames paused, licked his lips. "Does this have something to do with her ringing you up a few days ago?"

Arthur shook his head, and he really was standing too close, and yet neither of them was making any effort to move away. "No, it was before that. I just haven't had a chance to say anything yet."

Eames' brows rose, because that seemed patently untrue considering it had been just the two of them in this hotel room for ten days, but he wasn't about to call Arthur a liar.

"So, Ariadne informed me that she had been flirting with you in a deliberate effort to make me jealous," Arthur informed Eames, and his stomach plunged. "She then, rather smugly, informed me that it had worked. And she was right."

Eames swallowed thickly in an effort to choke down the knot of emotion that had seized his throat and done its best to throttle him. "Well, then," he got out, trying and failing to sound matter of fact about it, "Shouldn't you be leaving to join her soon?"

Arthur stared at him blankly for a moment, then let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Seriously?" He reached forward, grabbing Eames' upper arms, his hands firm and warm, holding on tightly. "You know, every time I think I've underestimated your intelligence, you go and say something completely _dense_ like that and I realize that sometimes I end up overestimating you."

"What?" Eames squawked, outraged, and he was going to rip himself away from Arthur, really he was, because that was beyond the pale, but before he could move, Arthur was hauling him in and mashing their lips together in something that was almost too violent to be called a kiss.

Almost.

Eames let out a startled sound against Arthur's mouth, and Arthur took advantage by thrusting his tongue between Eames' teeth. His hands came up to bury themselves in Eames' hair as he slanted his head, slotting their mouths together, and set about laying waste to all of Eames' higher faculties with the demanding twist of his tongue around Eames'.

Contrary to what Arthur had just said, Eames wasn't so dumb that he was going to mistake this for anything other than what it was. He didn't know where it was coming from, or _why_ it was, but Arthur was kissing him breathless, and Arthur _meant it_. Eames might be confused about some aspects of this, but he knew that much.

Hesitantly, he raised his own hands and placed them on Arthur's hips, where he had so often ached to settle them. Well, to be honest, he wanted to touch every single part of Arthur's body... but for right now, until he got an explanation, he could at least hold on to the other man this way.

Arthur's hips were hard beneath his palms and fingers. Muscle and bone, tight and perfect. The only thing that would have made it better would be if he was naked, Eames decided.

Just when he was beginning to think that he might pass out if he didn't get some oxygen soon, Arthur dragged his mouth away from Eames'. He did not, however, untangle his fingers from Eames' hair, and his face was still only a few centimeters away, his hot breath breaking over Eames' tingling, moist, pressure-bruised lips.

"If I toss you down on that bed, will you stay there?" Arthur asked, in a low rumble that hooked right around Eames' cock and _tugged_.

It was at that point that his brain fizzled out and pretty much left him speechless. But, he thought, looking at the hungry expression on Arthur's gorgeous face, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

So, maybe that explanation wasn't going to be forthcoming any time now after all. Eames couldn't bring himself to care, he really couldn't.

***

Watching Eames' eyes go soft and dark, his gaze unfocused with passion, was just as mesmerizing as the way his fat pink lips parted, falling in a lax circle, filling Arthur with filthy thoughts and lewd intentions.

Honestly, even back when they had first met and he had thought that he despised Eames, Arthur had always found the man's mouth to be entirely too tempting. Now, he thought that it was time to give in to that temptation... and not just by kissing Eames breathless.

"I'll take your silence as a yes, then," he growled through the teeth of his grin, and setting hands upon Eames, he made good on his threat. Though, really, it had been more of a promise than a threat.

Eames might have some weight on Arthur, but not that much, and Arthur was strong, with skill and determination on his side. It had never been in question that he would be able to put Eames on his back on the bed.

The forger gasped as he landed, and Arthur stopped, once he had straddled his supine form, peering down at him in concern. "Did that hurt your ribs?" he asked, spreading his fingers over the man's chest, feeling his heart beating hard and fast under his palm.

"No," Eames gasped out, and his own hands came to rest on Arthur's hips again. "Just surprised."

Arthur grinned down at him, moving both his hands so that he could caress Eames' nipples through the thin material of his teeshirt. Ariadne had gotten to them first, Arthur thought with a tinge of irritation and whole hell of a lot of possessiveness, but he was going to make Eames really _feel_ his touch.

Eames groaned, low, through clenched teeth, as Arthur plucked at them, making them stand out, hard peaks tipping the smooth swells of his pectorals. But as satisfying as this was, it was only the beginning.

Moving quickly, like a striking snake, Arthur reached down and grasped the hem of Eames' teeshirt, stripping it ruthlessly off. Eames' head thumped against the pillow, his eyes round, but the rising color in his cheeks and the heat in his gaze clearly gave away just how much he wanted this.

"Better," Arthur murmured, thumbing at Eames' bared nipples, wondering over the fact that they were more pink than brown, and far more pointy than he'd have expected from a man. But, really, now that Eames was bared from the waist up, Arthur was more focused on the man's tattoos.

They were many and varied, no rhyme or reason to them, but Arthur could tell without asking that each one had a story, and he intended to get every tale out of Eames at some point in the future. Not right now, though. Right now actions were far more important than words, and Arthur had held off for ten days. There was no more room in him for patience.

Scooting back slightly, he could feel Eames' dick pressing up against his rear through the cloth of his slacks and Eames' pajama bottoms. Smirking down at Eames, he ground into the man's burgeoning erection, even as he traced his fingertips over some of the lines of ink on Eames' chest, carding through the light curls that dusted the warm expanse of flesh.

Eames caught his breath, his pelvis twitching upward, not able to move far with Arthur's entire weight pinning him down, and his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, making short work of unfastening all of them.

Arthur took a moment to shrug out of his shirt, dropping it over the edge of the mattress to join Eames'. They were making progress, but there was a lot more skin to be revealed yet.

Before Eames could do much but paw at Arthur's chest a little awkwardly, pads of his fingers ticklish and tantalizing at once, Arthur hefted himself off of Eames, standing beside the bed.

Eames let out a sound of protest, reaching after him, but Arthur shook his head, hands at the fly of his pants. "Take everything off," he instructed, stripping down to his boxers, then removing his socks before dealing with that last bit of clothing, in a move designed to make sure that Eames was nude first.

The pink in Eames' cheeks was almost entirely arousal, Arthur was sure, because he couldn't imagine the man being shy about sex, but it made for an appealing picture. His hair was messy and standing up in wild cowlicks, his eyes were bright and yet heavy lidded, and he was flushed a warm and dusky rose shade. Arthur also took note of the way Eames' lips were plump and reddened, the result of his hard kisses, and he felt his dick twitch, loosing a little pulse of precome as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers.

Eames' dick was hard as well, stiff between his thighs, the very tip red and moist where it was emerging from his foreskin, and Arthur's mouth watered. He wanted to taste it, but even more than that, he wanted to kiss Eames again.

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Eames asked as Arthur rejoined him on the bed, this time stretching out over him, propping himself up on his elbows to either side of the man's head, their hard hips pressed together almost painfully, their throbbing dicks slotting together between their bellies.

"I don't know about 'we'," Arthur replied, licking a wet swathe along the sharp line of Eames' jaw, then nipping lightly at his chin, "But _I'm_ pretty damned sure."

To punctuate his words, and perhaps to prove his point, he rubbed his hips down into Eames', sliding their rapidly dampening dicks against each other. The way Eames caught his breath, his head snapping back, and the way his fingers scrabbled at Arthur's bare upper back, Arthur felt that the other man seemed more than ready to cede the point to him. The throaty groan that he wrenched out of Eames when he set his lips to the exposed line of his throat, marking the delicate flesh with suction and then sharp teeth, seemed to cement the matter, and he heard no more words of protest.

Levering up, he took Eames' mouth with his own again, their thighs shifting together in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but which was really just incredibly sexy.

"How are your ribs doing?" Arthur asked again, seeing as he was resting almost his entire body atop Eames. It was a little late to be concerned, but he wasn't a complete asshole.

"Fuck my ribs," Eames gasped, and Arthur was pretty sure he was breathless with arousal, not pain.

He chuckled. "Not quite what I was planning," he murmured against the point of Eames' chin as he shifted, leaning on one elbow and trailing his other hand down Eames' side. He managed to work his way between Eames and the bed beneath him, closing his fingers over the firm curve of his ass cheek. He couldn't grope Eames the way he wanted, not in the position they were in, but he did his best, and from the way Eames' breathing sped up, the way his dick jumped, and the way he arched toward Arthur, he seemed pretty appreciative.

"Arthur..." the man uttered in a low groan, his hips shifting restlessly beneath Arthur's, his own hands coming down to grab at Arthur's rear.

Arthur hummed out an appreciative sound into the hollow under Eames' jaw, then bit at his neck and shoulder again.

"Wait," Eames gasped, and Arthur pulled back, but it hadn't been a protest, he realized, when Eames continued, "Have you got slick? And rubbers?"

"Of course." Arthur smirked, then rolled off of Eames, toward the small table between the two beds. They were on Eames' right now, which was fine with him. If he had his way they would be fucking on both of them, calling for new sheets, then sleeping on fresh bedclothes... eventually. Once they'd relieved a good six years or so of unresolved sexual tension.

This time Eames let him go without protest, but his eyes were sharp where they were fixed on Arthur, watching intently as he retrieved both requested items from the drawer.

"Was I such a sure thing, then?" Eames asked, but he sounded amused, not offended, as he scooted up a little, leaning back against the headboard, one hand behind his neck, the other loosely holding his hard-on. He looked like the centerfold of a filthy magazine, looked like the best kind of porn, and Arthur made haste to return to the bed and Eames' body.

"According to Ariadne," Arthur replied honestly. "Though, to be fair, I also have a fair amount of faith in my persuasive abilities."

Eames grinned at him, crooked front teeth on display, and Arthur wasn't going to be happy until he had fucked that smile right off of Eames' face, and then put it back on there all over again once he'd come.

"You _can_ be very persuasive," Eames allowed in his husky drawl, and he reached for Arthur with the hand not clasped around his dick. "But, please, can't we leave little Ariadne out of this?"

Arthur nodded briskly, pressing the condom he'd liberated into Eames' grasping fingers. "Agreed." As pretty as she was, as much as they both owed her for getting them to this point, they were neither of them going to gain anything by bringing the spectre of their little architect into the bed. "Hold onto that, and roll over," he directed.

"I'm bottoming, then?" Eames said, but he sounded pleased by this, and his smile didn't falter in the slightest when he did as directed. "Hope you intend to give me a shot at your sweet ass next time around, darling."

Arthur didn't have to hide his wide grin at that, since he was safely behind Eames now. "It's a deal," he agreed, uncapping the lube and running his gaze over the exquisite stretch of Eames' shoulders, the curve of his spine, and the perfect globes of his ass. How a man who slept for a living could look so good.... Well, but they _had_ to be fit, in case they had to do something physically strenuous in the waking world. Like running from the Russian mafia.

"Really?" Eames actually sounded surprised, twisting to glance at Arthur over his shoulder. Arthur arched his brows silently, lips quirking, and squeezed out a generous dollop of lube onto his first two fingers.

"Make sure you warm that," Eames instructed seriously before turning back around and widening his thighs while Arthur moved to kneel between them.

Arthur did as directed, as much because he cared about Eames' comfort and pleasure to as because he knew Eames would be inclined to get revenge when it was his turn if he didn't. Mostly the former, though.

Eames was open for him, unabashedly spread, and Arthur felt a sudden surge of renewed jealousy, dead certain that he was not the first male lover that Eames had had.... He was going to make sure he was the only one from here on out, though. The only lover, period, regardless of gender.

He made sure to liberally smear the entirety of Eames ass crack with the slick stuff, taking his time and rubbing at the pucker of his anus, lingering on the sensitive flesh there.

"Arthur," Eames rumbled menacingly, peering over his shoulder again, his cheeks hectic with color, his hairline damp with perspiration. His eyes were fierce and he'd bitten his lips red. "Don't be a tease. I want you inside me."

Arthur had to clear his throat before he could reply, though he did manage a small grin. "It wasn't my intent to tease, Eames." After renewing the lube on his fingers, he slid one smoothly inside, gasping at the tightness while Eames gasped at the sensation.

"Oh, fuck, yeah," Eames groaned, and it might have been crude, but it communicated his feelings on the matter as clearly as the way he tilted his hips up and back toward the penetration. "More, Arthur."

With such a clear directive, Arthur didn't hesitate to add a second finger. Eames took it with nothing more than a small grunt and then another moan. Arthur was done with being patient and gentle; Eames clearly didn't need it. Quickly working up to three fingers and assuring that Eames was well lubed, he reached out over Eames' shoulder with his other hand, snapping his fingers. "Give me the condom now."

"Uh?" Eames mumbled into the pillow, his hips shifting restlessly, the muscles of his thighs tensing around Arthur, clasped around his hips now. Arthur was ready to be done kneeling and he was ready to get his hard cock inside of Eames. And in a couple more minutes, he would have both these things.

"The condom," he repeated, allowing his tone to sharpen, even though he wasn't irritated, only impatient. "I thought you wanted me inside you." He pulled his fingers free as he said this, to reduce the distraction and to speed Eames along.

"Shit," Eames grumped, struggling up onto his elbows. "Move, then," he directed, and by this Arthur assumed that Eames didn't want to be fucked from behind. That was fine with him; he was looking forward to being able to watch Eames' face as he slid inside of him.

The package was a little crushed, where Eames had been mindlessly squeezing it in his fist, but it was undamaged, and Arthur ripped it open quickly, removing the rubber and rolling it onto his dick as Eames shifted so that he was lying on his back in front of Arthur, his thighs still sprawled to either side of him, knees raised, feet planted in the mattress.

"You okay?" Arthur asked, reaching down with his lube-slick hand and fisting Eames' erection a few times. It was hot and hard and throbbing, thicker than Arthur's -- if not by much, and not as long -- and he was looking forward to feeling it in his own ass. But first it was his turn to screw Eames into the mattress. Just like he had told Ariadne... but not was _not_ the time to be thinking of her, just like he had told Eames.

"More than okay," Eames rumbled in reply, tilting his hips up toward Arthur, his eyes bright. "Better once you get _in me_."

Arthur had no reason to delay. Making sure his condom-sheathed cock was generously lubed, he shifted into place, his free hand closing on Eames' thigh hard enough to bruise as he tipped his lower torso up. Eames grabbed at his other thigh, and while this was an awkward way to do this, Arthur wouldn't have changed it for anything.

"Arthur," Eames rumbled his name as he reached up his other hand and fumbled to grip the nape of his neck. They couldn't exactly kiss while Arthur pressed his dick inside of Eames, but they were close enough to share breath, to feel the gusting hot moisture of each other's moans against their open mouths.

Arthur thought that he swore as he punched his way deeply inside Eames' tight but welcoming heat, the lube slicking the way and making it almost seem effortless. This was right, and it might have taken them half a dozen years to reach this point, but now that he had this, Arthur was never going to give it up. And from the loud noises of pleasure he was making as Arthur started in to fuck him in earnest, Eames probably felt the same way. It was certainly flattering.

Arthur figured he probably didn't have as much experience with sex as Eames had, but he had a big dick and a willingness to use it. And he was going to fuck Eames until he came, let Eames fuck him, and then they were going to do it all over again until they ran out of condoms, lube, or the ability to get it up anymore. Certainly they weren't going to need to leave the hotel room for any other reasons. They had two beds, a shower, and room service when they were hungry. They were set.

Arthur might be swearing, but Eames was uttering broken little sounds that could have been endearments as he clung to Arthur, arms ringing his neck, fingers clawing at his shoulders, legs locked around Arthur's pumping hips. Arthur was forced to hook his elbows under Eames' knees to keep his shaking thighs up, so he wasn't able to reach for the man's leaking cock, but the fact that he was able to drive in all the way to the root this way, to fuck Eames deeper and harder, more than made up for that. And when he caught just the right angle, the one that had Eames crying out and jerking in his arms, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to touch the man's dick to bring him off after all.

Making sure that he hit that spot with nearly every thrust, Arthur set his knees and toes in the mattress and fucked into Eames as hard and as fast as he was physically able. Eames was writhing under him, shifting so that it was difficult for Arthur to make sure he caught the other man's prostrate with the head of his cock each time he pushed in, but Eames' cries of pleasure made it worth the extra effort, and Arthur honestly didn't think either of them was going to last very much longer.

He could feel his balls drawing up, could feel his climax on the verge of overwhelming him, so he was actually startled when Eames gave a throttled shout and jolted underneath him, nails a blunt bite in the tense muscles of his upper back, thighs closing like a vise around his moving hips, as searing liquid broke between them, spreading over the planes of their close-pressed bellies.

As he had expected, Arthur tumbled not long after, his orgasm washing over him in rising waves until it overtook all his senses in a burst of shiver-hot ecstasy and the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears. He clung to Eames as tightly as Eames had clung to him, jolting his way through his climax, spilling in the condom while wishing that he was staining Eames with his come. They collapsed together in a tumbled tangle of lean limbs, soaked in sweat and Eames' semen, both panting for breath, clinging as though they were in danger of losing one another on the small bed.

Arthur didn't think he had ever felt better.

Once he'd recovered some semblance of motor skills, Arthur ran his hand through Eames' hair, the strands soft between his fingers, the pad of his thumb tracing over the beaded perspiration collected at Eames' temple. In return, one of Eames' hands found its fumbling way to Arthur's head, petting him a little heavily, and Arthur thought that the next thing they would have to do, once they'd both recovered enough, would involve Eames' fingers locked tightly in Arthur's hair and Arthur's face buried between Eames' powerful thighs as he sucked him off.

Of course, that was going to be a while, since Arthur hadn't even managed to remove his condom yet. He'd have to deal with that, immediately.

First, though, he nuzzled Eames' forehead, lips sliding through rapidly drying sweat, tasting the salt and the singular flavor of Eames.

"You wanted that, right?" he murmured, suddenly insecure. Because even though Eames had made his eagerness very clear, even though Arthur trusted that Ariadne hadn't lied to him, it had been Arthur who had made all the confessions this afternoon, and he hadn't heard specifically from Eames' own lips that this was something he wanted, something that he needed.

"Of course," Eames replied, quickly enough to set Arthur's mind at ease, his voice a lazy drawl. "How could you doubt?"

"You'll find as you get to know me that I'm full of actual human emotions and weaknesses," Arthur replied dryly, pulling away enough to get rid of the condom. "Hardly the figure of perfection and efficiency you imagine me to be."

Eames paused while indulging in a languorous stretch, giving Arthur a sharp look from under heavy lids. He looked satisfyingly sated, and while Arthur was looking forward to more sex, he had to admit to having done good work just now.

"Did I say that?"

Arthur grinned crookedly, turning into the powerful hand that Eames cupped around his jaw, licking at the heel of his palm. "You did."

"Mm." Eames tugged until Arthur gave in and bent to kiss him, their lips moving slow and sweet against one another, the urgency gone for the moment, leaving only raw emotion behind.

"I did mean it, you know," Eames murmured against Arthur's mouth. "I know you're human, but your standards can be exacting."

"I don't intend them to be," Arthur protested. "We're in this together, Eames."

"Together," Eames echoed dreamily, as Arthur leaned back until he could see his face again. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of looking at Eames. And now that he could be sure that they both felt the same way....

"So Ariadne was right," he murmured, tracing his fingers along the sharp line of Eames' cheekbone. "Her plan worked after all."

"Plan?" Eames' brows rose.

"To make me jealous," Arthur clarified, feeling his mouth crook in a smirk, because even though they had come to an understanding of sorts, it had briefly felt good to know something Eames didn't.

"So, wait." Eames frowned up at him . "You mean that you were jealous _of_ Ariadne... _over_ me?"

Whether the man was serious or not, Arthur felt he had no recourse but to pummel Eames with a pillow. Which, naturally enough, led to rough-housing. And that led to more sex.

Arthur figured that eventually he would text Ariadne. But he wasn't in a huge hurry. He had Eames in his arms, neither one of them was going anywhere, and Ariadne was already insufferably smug over the entire thing.

Not that she didn't deserve to be. But still, it was the principle of the thing.

***

Dominic Cobb was of the firmly held opinion that everyone else in his extraction team was completely crazy. And this, coming from a man who until recently had been haunted by the evil spectre of his dead wife, was really saying something.

Actually, as their small group joined back together again for another venture in the dream-share, he came to realize with a powerful sense of relief that most of the craziness seemed to be over with.

Arthur had finally given in to the inevitable and he and Eames were a couple. That would have been readily apparent to Dom in the way that their gazes softened and lingered whenever they looked at one another, even if he hadn't caught them making out in the bathroom within an hour of their first meeting. Well, that and the fact that they had arrived together, and hadn't ventured more than two feet apart the entire time.

Dom was happy for them, although he _did_ feel the need to remind them to lock the door if they were going to be copulating in the bathroom. Eames had turned bright red, which had been a bit of revenge right there, for having had to see what Dom had seen, but Arthur had merely smirked and said that he would take that advice under advisement. Dom had told them it was an order, not a request, and then beat it quickly, trying to clear his mind of the sight of Arthur groping Eames' ass.

Unfortunately, he was pretty sure that this was something he was going to see again, and often. Well, as long as they kept their clothing on when he was around, he supposed he could take it. They _were_ both the best in their respective fields, the best in the realm of dream-sharing, after Dom himself, so he'd put up with a lot if it meant having them working with him.

And Arthur was a friend, even if he was also kind of being a dick. But after having been kneecapped by Dom's projection of Mal, he supposed Arthur felt a little justified in this.

He'd almost expected Ariadne to be shattered, heartbroken, or at least jealous, after the way she'd been flirting with Eames during their last job. But she had seemed more... gleeful... than anything else.

He just couldn't figure her out. Honestly.

And then, the morning of their second meeting, Arthur dropped a piece of mangled electronics that looked like it might once have been a small camera in Ariadne's lap, and she blushed bright red.

"Do you really think I don't regularly sweep the hotel room for bugs?" Arthur asked wryly, one brow quirked.

Ariadne, recovering quickly, gave him a wicked grin and shrugged. "Can't blame a girl for trying," she said lightly.

Arthur folded his arms and scowled. "You've said that before. And, yes, I can."

Her nose wrinkling, Ariadne set aside the broken camera. "Hey, without me you two would still be tugging each other's pigtails," she said archly. "Instead of tugging each other's--"

"There are _limits_ , Ariadne!" Arthur interrupted fiercely, which Dom considered to be both fortunate and a little too late. He'd already gotten too much of a mental image there... but he'd also gotten a good idea what Ariadne had been up to during their last job. It made an amazing amount of sense, but he wasn't sure he approved.

"Eames," Ariadne was appealing to the other man, who had merely been watching the proceedings with a mildly amused expression. "Back me up here!"

Eames simply grinned at her. "Sorry, love, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to side with Arthur on this one. Or else I'm liable to end up sleeping on your doorstep."

Ariadne practically _leered_ , and Dom could hardly believed he was seeing that expression on her pretty face. "I'd invite you in," she said, sounding entirely too delighted by the idea. "You could share my bed...."

"That's enough," Arthur snapped, and Dom was not at all surprised by the sharp, proprietary tone of his voice or the hard glare he shot Ariadne. What he _was_ a little surprised by was the young woman's continued boldness. "No more flirting, Ariadne. And no more bugs in our hotel room!"

"You're welcome, by the way," Ariadne said loudly as Arthur crossed the room, headed for the desk their paperwork was stacked on.

Arthur ignored her. Ariadne pouted until Eames tipped her an unsubtle wink, upon which her frown transformed into a wide grin.

And Dom... well, he was happy for Arthur and Eames, since this had been a long time coming. And he was impressed with Ariadne for making it happen.

Be, still, he was completely convinced that they were all crazy and that he was the only sane one in the room.

And that was really saying something.

=[end]=

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
> Banner by the wonderful Too Rational!


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